Faintly Like Roses
by mholub00
Summary: He can feel her next to him and he thinks she smells like an angel might and faintly like roses. (One-shot)


They stand on the balcony, overlooking the city.

Venice is beautiful at night. The lights below look like fireflies. An outdoor café across the canal houses a bunch of men with drinks in their hands, shouting at the soccer game playing on the television. A woman holds the hand of her child as they walk back from the gelato stand on the corner.

It's hard to believe that an hour ago they were across the river, kicking the shit out of some weird men in black suits who were trying to do something they shouldn't.

"What would you do, if you weren't an agent?" Natasha's voice rings out clear in the night. She stares down at the lights, a slight breeze blowing back her red curls. The lantern on the table flickers and lights up parts of her face, her green eyes shining and the side of her lip curled slightly upward into a smile.

"When I was younger I wanted to be a fireman, before everything." Clint says back, following her eyes around the city.

"Why?" She looks at him now, almost as if she's staring into his very being, searching.

"Firemen are strong and fearless. They get to save people on a regular basis." There's a lot of yelling from the bar and he looks own. Someone must have scored. "Besides," he says, meeting her gaze. "All the ladies love a fireman."

Natasha smiles and playfully hits him on the shoulder. She turns away and slowly her smile falters, her face turns serious. She rests her arms on the railing and leans over.

It's a long time before she says anything. "I always dreamed of getting married, before they took me. Growing up and finding my prince. A huge wedding with a white dress. Having a family to take care of, kids to hold in my arms. Being normal."

He looks at her now, in this position that has no stress involved as she stares off the balcony. This is the first time she's ever had that innocent look to her, the way the light hits her face and her eyes are wide open. "You still could you know. Be normal."

"No, I'm in too deep now. The moment I left, I would have a hundred people lined up at my door, waiting for their chance to kill me. I couldn't put anyone else in that type of danger."

He doesn't say that he's quite a fan of danger and wouldn't mind it one bit.

She stands straight and takes one last scan of the city. "I'm going to turn in for the night."

Clint follows Natasha into the hotel room, making sure the door is shut and locked and the curtains are drawn behind him. She goes into the bathroom to change.

There's only one bed, which she gets, but luckily, he notes, there is a small couch for him to sleep on. Extra blankets are on the top shelf of the closet, and he gets them down and lays them out. They're very thin and he has a feeling he's in for a cold night. The temperature inside is probably sixty degrees and they have no means of changing it.

He's already sliding under the blankets, wearing a long sleeve shirt, sweatpants, and socks, when she comes out of the bathroom, running a brush through her crimson curls.

"Goodnight Clint," she says as she climbs under the warmth of the bed and shuts off the lights.

Then it's dark and quiet except for their breathing and calm, very calm compared to this morning.

This morning. This morning, Fury had dropped them off outside, finishing his lecture on their cover stories and mission and all. They had walked into the city and caught a cab, checked in to a fancy hotel as Natalie and Kent Bermon, a newlywed couple on their honeymoon. She had even let him kiss her a few times, though she was consistent in reminding him it was only to keep up their cover.

He'd just laughed and joked about it, hiding the fact of how _right_ kissing her felt.

And now they are in separate beds in a freezing room and all he can think about is her and he thinks it might be killing him.

He's almost asleep when she speaks, her voice ringing out sweetly in the darkness.

"Clint," she says. "Are you cold?"

He hears her sit up in the bed and feels her eyes through the darkness. He turns his head in her direction and debates whether or not to answer- he could pretend to already be asleep, but reckons she can probably hear his teeth chattering.

"Just a bit, yeah," he says and rolls all the way over as she turns on the light. They just stare at each other for a while, her green eyes meeting his grey.

"If you wanted, you could sleep up here with me. It's much warmer. We are married after all." She says the last part with a grin, finally allowing herself to relax after this morning.

"I'll be fine," he blurts out, mentally slapping himself to keep from immediately accepting her offer.

"Are you sure? Because I don't mind. This bed is big enough for both of us." She looks kind of worried, an expression not many are allowed to witness on the face of Natasha Romanoff.

_Maybe_, he thinks, _she's afraid I'll freeze to death or something_.

Before he's really aware of what he's doing, Clint is off the couch and climbing into the bed beside her. She smiles and turns out the light, whispering goodnight for the second time.

He feels safer, wrapped in heavy blankets, and the warmth is enough that he pulls off his shirt as quietly and gracefully as possible.

She's close; he can feel her next to him and she smells like he thinks an angel might and faintly like roses.

Instead of sending him out of control on a rollercoaster ride of thoughts and emotions, having her near him does the opposite. He is calm, relaxed. He can protect her better, he reminds himself, and he thinks he might actually be able to sleep.


End file.
